"None of the others are you, Katya," he says simply, with half a smile, and holds her close, and listens.
Thinking of his mother is a nostalgic sort of wistfulness, these days. His parents are years dead, and his home hasn't really been one in longer, but the grief is old; old enough to have faded into remembrance of a happy childhood, and the gift that that was. "She would be happy," he says, and means it.
"She would scold me, yes, that I have not made you an honest wife." There's humor in his voice, and warmth for Alexandra Vasilyevna Rasputina long dead and for Kate now. "But she would be happy. She liked you. And you make me happy -- Mama would have loved you for that alone. She would have been delighted by grandchildren."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-10-14 01:06 am (UTC)Thinking of his mother is a nostalgic sort of wistfulness, these days. His parents are years dead, and his home hasn't really been one in longer, but the grief is old; old enough to have faded into remembrance of a happy childhood, and the gift that that was. "She would be happy," he says, and means it.
"She would scold me, yes, that I have not made you an honest wife." There's humor in his voice, and warmth for Alexandra Vasilyevna Rasputina long dead and for Kate now. "But she would be happy. She liked you. And you make me happy -- Mama would have loved you for that alone. She would have been delighted by grandchildren."